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Mr. Keeler had finished the reading of the lesson, skipping most of the big words and laying particular stress on those he was sure of, and had stood up facing his class of boys, to ask them certain questions pertaining to the lesson, thereby bringing all whispered conversation to a halt. He cleared his throat and ran a critical eye down the line of upturned faces. When Mr. Keeler asked a question it was in a booming voice that carried from pulpit to ante-room of the building. "I didn't play no trick on you," Billy repeated. "Well, do you believe in my charm now?" Billy asked..
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"Sure he came back. He's a wise crow, that Croaker, an', Oh gosh! don't he hate Ma, though! He gets up in a tree out o' reach of her broom, an' jest don't he call her names in crow talk? Ma says she'll kill him if ever she gets close enough to him an' she will, too." "All hunky?" a voice whispered in his ear. "You're drunk again!" said the boy, in deep disgust. He leaped from the fence. "Good bye," he called back over his shoulder. "I hear old Cherry bawlin' fer her drink.".
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